The Deadly Curse of Toco-Rey (3 page)

“What was that thing doing in there?” Dr. Cooper wondered.

“It was probably attracted by the blood. Carvies are flesh eaters: They feed on dead animals, blood, meat of any kind. There were probably others in the tent last night. This one decided to sleep under the rags.”

Jay shook his head. “So that's one more thing to worry about—besides the biting insects, the poisonous snakes, and the hostile natives.”

“How far away is the Kachaka village?” asked Dr. Cooper.

Tomás shrugged. “I have never been there. It's somewhere beyond the ruins, I think. But the Kachakas claim all this land, and they aren't happy that we're here.” Tomás cocked his head toward the woods just beyond the camp. “The Corys have already learned that. Come this way.”

They followed him into a small clearing. There, marked with crude wooden crosses, were three graves. “Ben Cory, John Cory, Brad Frederick,” said Tomás, pointing out each one. “Gone in one night, their treasure stolen.”

Jacob Cooper had seen enough. “All right, let's get these materials back to the compound and see if we can sort them out. And then we'll watch a movie.”

After hiking back to the compound, they ate a hurried dinner—roast pig cooked over the fire by Tomás's coworkers—and then settled into their trailer to examine the notes left behind by the Corys. In the light of a gas lantern, Jay and Lila carefully cleaned, sorted, and stacked the materials, and Dr. Cooper laid them out in orderly fashion on the dinette table to study them.

“Hmm . . . ,” he said, using a small flashlight to illuminate some hard-to-read areas. “I'm impressed. The Corys put a lot of time into mapping out the ruins. Look here: Toco-Rey was built on top of the ruins of a previous city, which was built on top of the ruins of a previous city, and so it goes. It's only about a mile square and used to be walled like a fortress. It would have been easy for Kachi-Tochetin to hole up there for years and defend his loot from his enemies.”

Lila spotted a dark, square shape someone had drawn near the map's eastern edge. “I'll bet that's the burial temple Ben Cory wrote about.” She leafed through a pile of freshly scrubbed materials and pulled out a ragged-edged notebook. “Yeah, take a look at this.”

Dr. Cooper quickly flipped through the notebook, then compared the scribblings and sketches with the map on the table. “Lila, you're right on the money. It
is
the burial temple. Ben Cory guessed they'd find the treasure there. He figured since Kachi-Tochetin was such a gold-hound, the old king probably had himself buried with it.”

Jay produced some smaller maps, roughly drawn with pencil and now faintly bloodstained. “I think these maps lay out the route they followed to get to the burial temple.”

Dr. Cooper laid the maps out on the table and traced the route with his finger. “Looks like the same route José de Carlon took centuries ago: up the slope past the waterfall . . . across the swamp . . . through the main gates of the city . . . around the Pyramid of the Moon and due north up the Avenue of the Dead . . .”

“Avenue of the
Dead?
” said Lila.

“Sounds inviting,” quipped Jay.

A knock on the screen door startled them. “Hello. How goes the battle?” It was Armond Basehart.

“I'm encouraged,” replied Dr. Cooper. “The Corys kept a thorough record. We should be able to retrace their route first thing tomorrow morning.”

Basehart was visibly pleased. “Good enough! Well, I have the Corys' video ready. Come on over and have a look.”

Outside Basehart's trailer, Tomás yanked the starter rope on a portable gas generator. Inside the trailer, the electric lights came on and so did a ten-inch color television perched in Basehart's tight little living room. Basehart had the Corys' palm-sized video camera wired to the television, and after fumbling a little with various switches and buttons, finally got the tape rolling and a picture on the screen.

The Coopers leaned forward as one person, gazing intently, and immediately recognized the Corys' camp in the jungle. The camera jiggled, panning the camp, showing the tent, the campfire, the table and chairs. Even the vase of orchids was standing upright on the table, the orchids in much fresher condition. “And this is our tent, and over here we have the fire, and here's our nice outdoor dining room . . .” went the cameraman's prattle, the kind of silly stuff that always goes with home movies.

Then a young man appeared from behind the tent, carrying some firewood. He was tall and thin, with a smile so wide and teeth so white it caught your eye. “And here's Brad, doing the chores . . . ,” continued the narrator.

Brad shot back, “Did you get a shot of the treasure?”

“No,” the cameraman answered, “I'm doing establishing shots here.”

Then came a voice from off-camera, “Well, get the camera over here, Ben. You're wasting Mr. Stern's time.”

“Ehh, everybody's gotta be a director.” The camera did a quick, blurry pan to the table near the firepit, and then it picked up the glimmer of gold— a lot of gold.

“Will you look at that!” Jay exclaimed in a near whisper.

“Here's just a preview of what we found,” said Ben the cameraman, zooming in for a close-up of incredible gold artifacts: an ornately engraved vase of gold at least two feet tall, several golden plates and cups, a necklace of gold and jewels, and at least a dozen golden figurines only a few inches tall.

Hands entered the picture, holding another vase and wiping it down with a rag. “We found these in the tomb and carried them out through the tunnel. Everything is pretty dusty down there. We wore dust masks, but still came out of that place all dirty. No problem though. See here? It just takes a rag to clean the artifacts and they polish right up.”

The camera zoomed back to show John Cory, a long-haired, bare-chested man. John set the vase down and picked up some of the small figures to show to the camera, wiping them some more with his rag. “We have here tiny figurines of a bird-god, possibly another form of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent god.”

Ben, from behind the camera, explained, “These were stationed all around the walls of the room like sentries, probably to guard the treasure from spirits of the dead, maybe even from living enemies—”

John butted in, “There were other guards there too, but they weren't much help.”

Ben laughed. “No, they sure weren't. We're going to take the camera and some lights with us tomorrow. We should get some great shots of the treasure room and the tunnel—”

“If we can get past the slugs,” Brad quipped, coming into the picture and turning some of the artifacts for better viewing.

John agreed, “Yeah, the carvies can be a bit of a problem. They like the tunnels and underground areas just like bats like caves, but we're dealing with it.”

“We'll retrace our route for you,” came Ben's voice from off-camera, “which closely matches the route taken by José de Carlon more than four hundred years ago.”

“The old guy was right about the treasure,” said Brad.

“But wrong about the curse,” said John, indicating the treasure on the table. “I mean, here's the treasure, and here we are, safe and sound.”

“Okay,” said Ben, “let's get this stuff into the tent.” Then, in a louder, announcer's voice, “Stay tuned, folks, for tomorrow's exciting venture into the burial temple of King Kachi-Tochetin!”

The television screen went to snow.

Dr. Basehart turned it off. “That's it. They were ambushed and killed that very night. They never went back.”

Dr. Cooper looked at his kids for their reaction.

Lila was troubled. “Is the treasure worth it?”

Her father reflected on the question. “Some people are greedy enough to take the risk. For others, . . .” He sighed. “Well, we should be willing to ask that question more than once on this trip.”

“A tunnel,” said Jay. “We're definitely looking for a tunnel.”

“Perhaps the original tunnel dug by José de Carlon and his men,” Dr. Cooper said. “And apparently inhabited by more
caracoles volantes.
”

“Oh
great!
” Lila moaned.

Dr. Basehart was quick to say, “But the Corys got around the carvies somehow. They got into the treasure room!”

Dr. Cooper rose to his feet. “And so will we. Let's call it a day and get some shut-eye. We'll confront those poisonous slugs—”

“And snakes,” added Lila.

“And hostile natives with poison darts,” added Jay.

“Tomorrow,” finished Dr. Cooper.

THREE

T
he night passed slowly, as any night filled with fear and foreboding will. Lila lay in a bed toward the back of the trailer, staring up at the ceiling, listening, thinking. Again and again she replayed the memory of the Corys' blood-spattered tent and the poison darts they had found. Jay, lying very still in the bed across the trailer from her, listened carefully for the sound of footsteps stealing close to the trailer. As he peered out the narrow window, he hoped he wouldn't see the glint of a killer's eyes lingering in the bush. Dr. Cooper wasn't lying down at all. He sat on his bed—the dinette folded down to make one—listening and watching.

Draping a thin blanket around her shoulders, Lila got up and went to her father's side. “Dad, you okay?”

“So far,” he said softly. He put his arm around her, giving her a loving squeeze as he looked out the windows again. “It's very quiet out there.”

“I can't sleep.”

“Neither can I.”

“Me neither,” came Jay's voice from his bed.

“Which makes me wonder why everyone else can.”

Lila bent down and peered out the window as well, seeing no activity, no lights, and hearing no sounds beyond the constant night chatter of the jungle. “Are they all asleep?”

“I think so,” said Dr. Cooper. “I just did a little patrolling around the camp without encountering anyone on watch—no sentry, no safeguards at all. If I could do it, then a whole tribe of Kachakas could sneak into this camp and never be noticed. Either Basehart and his men are too dense to get a clue from what happened to the Corys, or . . .”

“Or what?” asked Jay, coming up front to join them.

Jacob Cooper thought a moment, but then he shook his head. “I don't know. It doesn't make sense.” He turned from the window to face his kids. “But we have to get some sleep. Let's take turns keeping watch. I'll take the first shift for two hours.”

“I'll take the next,” said Jay.

“Then me,” Lila said with a shrug.

“I'll leave my gun by the door. Each of you keep it beside you on your watch.”

And that's how they spent the rest of the night.

The morning air was warm, wet, and full of earthy smells when the Coopers emerged from their trailer. Armond Basehart was already up and active, barking orders to his three men. Tomás and his two friends, Juan and Carlos, appeared moody and somber. They kept their eyes on the jungle as they gathered equipment and crammed provisions and tools into large backpacks.

“Well, good morning,” Dr. Basehart greeted them. “Did you sleep well?”

Dr. Cooper couldn't help noticing his host's well-rested, almost chipper demeanor. “Well enough. How about yourself?”

“Just fine, thank you. Well, grab some breakfast and get yourselves ready. The day wears on!”

Jacob Cooper, Jay, and Lila had their backpacks ready. They ate a quick breakfast of fruit juice and granola and then geared up.

Dr. Cooper slipped into his “map vest,” which had many deep pockets where he could carry maps and charts close at hand. He neatly tucked the Corys' maps and photocopies of the original de Carlon maps into the pockets, strapped on his revolver and backpack, put on his hat, and was ready to go.

They headed out, Dr. Cooper leading, making their way back along the trail that led to the Corys' campsite. Jay and Lila followed directly behind their father; Dr. Basehart and his three workers followed behind them. As the jungle closed in around them, the mood of the group darkened, and there was little talking. Even Armond Basehart's hurried, commanding manner had fallen away and he, like the others, stole along the trail quietly, eyes wide open and attentive. Tomás's face clearly indicated what was on his mind: Kachakas. Magic. The curse. His two friends, Juan and Carlos, each carried rifles and pointed them every direction they looked as if expecting an enemy behind every tree.

They pressed on through the thick growth like fleas on a dog's back, stepping over, ducking under, and sidestepping the branches and leaves that brushed and raked against them. The sounds of birds and insects made a constant rattle in their ears.

When they reached the camp, they found it further deteriorated, torn, and scattered by another night's visitations of scavenging animals. Tomás, Juan, and Carlos began muttering to each other in Spanish, and Dr. Basehart had to shush them.

Dr. Cooper pulled out Ben Cory's map sketched in pencil, then carefully walked around the camp perimeter until he found the crude trail the Corys had hacked through the jungle. Without a word, he beckoned to the others, and they continued, the jungle closing around them more than ever.

They hiked and crept for another half-mile or so, and then they began to climb a shallow rise. Dr. Cooper consulted his map. So far, everything checked out. Another half-mile should bring them to—

They froze in their tracks. Tomás aimed his rifle up the rise, the barrel quivering in his trembling hand. Dr. Cooper's hand went to the .357 on his hip.

Somewhere out there, deep within the tangle of jungle, something was screaming. It was not the cry of a bird or the howl of a wild dog, but something far more eerie and strange. It rose in pitch, then fell, then rose again, in long, anguished notes of terror, or maniacal rage, or pain . . . they couldn't tell.